Why I Admire My Mother

In the most unexpected and trying times in life, few are able to quietly rise above the chaos, and choose the path they know to be true. My mother is among these strong few. Her choice meant my existence or another deadly statistic, and because of her decision, my hands are able to record these very words.

Early in her young adult life, my mother fell in love with a charming, down-to-earth, country boy with a deep southern drawl. He was restless and wild, forbidden and carefree. His passion was the guitar. Or, any instrument that was tuned and able to be played, for that matter. He was the cowboy in every country love song. He was hers. She was his. And forever seemed to be theirs.

Not long after, my mother would find herself huddled in a tight ball on the bathroom floor. She hugged her knees close, and through tear filled eyes, she stared and sobbed at the double pink lines on the test that lay on the floor. Those pink lines stared back at her, taunting her with the fate that was now hers. How could she tell her father? Would she have to raise this baby alone? Would they send her away so no one would find out? Could she just get rid of it and forget this ever happened? Her mind flooded with questions, and in her mind she began to drown in them, unable to find a way out.

Early in her pregnancy, before revealing the truth to her parents, my mother quietly asked among friends for advice on what she should do. All of her friends were in unison with their admonition. Each and every one told my mother to have an abortion. They told her she would be crazy to have a baby. They told her a baby would ruin her life. They encouraged her persistently to just get rid of it and move on.

All along, my mother knew abortion was wrong. But with every friend she had giving the opposite opinion, it really didn't seem so immoral. She didn't want her life to be over. She didn't want to have to break such terrible news to her parents. She didn't want to be embarrassed. She didn't want to face the ridicule. She didn't want her boyfriend to leave her all alone.

Though her decision was quite unpopular among her circle of companions, in the end, her conscience would not allow her to murder the growing being inside her. She stood firm, and did not waver in her decision when everyone told her she was crazy. Her mind was made up. She would have this baby, and she would, in a sense, give her young life, for the child she had mistakenly created.

I admire my mother because she allowed me to live. All mothers give life to their children, but my mother gave even more. She gave up her own life, her own dreams, and all her life's ambitions, all so I could breathe and live and play and grow. When the world was against my mere existence, my mother stood up for me. She rose above the noise and the ignorant clatter, and gave birth to a baby girl, twelve days late, on a December afternoon.

Today she tells me that the moment she set eyes on my rose colored lips and tiny pink cheeks, she instantly knew she made the right choice, and couldn't imagine her life any other way.